I drew out my tinder-box and lighted the wick. She had turned, and was facing me even as she had faced me the night before. The night before! The greatest part of my life seemed to have passed since then. I remember wondering that she did not look tired. Her face was sad, her voice was sad, and it had an ineffable, sweet quality at such times that was all its own.
“The Alcalde should be coming back,” she said.
“Yes,” I answered.
These were our words, yet we scarce heeded their meaning. Between us was drawn a subtler communion than speech, and we dared—neither of us—to risk speech. She searched my face, but her lips were closed. She did not take my hand again as in the afternoon. She turned away. I knew what she would have said.
There was a knock at the door. We went together to open it, and the Alcalde stood on the step. He held in his hand a long letter on which the red seal caught the light, and he gave the letter to the Vicomtesse, with a bow.
“From his Excellency, Madame la Vicomtesse.”
She broke the seal, went to the table, and read. Then she looked up at me.
“It is the Governor's permit for Mr. Temple to remain in this house. Thank you,” she said to the Alcalde; “you may go.”
“With my respectful wishes for the continued good health of Madame la Vicomtesse,” said the Alcalde.